


72. Power

by howelleheir



Series: DS9 100 Theme Challenge [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: Weyoun gives Dukat a gift.





	72. Power

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that weird metal thing on Dukat's uniform in Ties of Blood and Water and that was like...the only time it appeared, and then I had a Compulsion™️.

Weyoun shouldered on his coat with a sigh. He could withstand most any environment his work took him to, but that didn't change the fact that summer in the Cardassian capital was brutal. At least he wouldn't have to endure it for very long, if all went according to plan.

For the moment, it was necessary for Dukat to remain on Cardassia, and where Dukat went, so went Weyoun, a quiet, ever-deferrent  presence at his shoulder, a soft voice at his ear guiding him in the right direction.

Of course, he'd been the same to the leaders of many worlds, and he'd always played the role of the demure, soft-spoken diplomat to perfection, but until Dukat, he'd never taken so much pleasure in working with someone, never been so fascinated by a man's contradictions and idiosyncrasies.

He supposed he was drawn to people who could surprise him. At first, he'd thought Dukat  would be typical of his station -- self-centered, cowardly, convinced he was superior, but dreadfully ordinary, with all the common neuroses and garden-variety perversions of powerful men. He certainly seemed so on the surface. But as Weyoun had performed his slow psychological dissection, carefully peeling away Dukat's public persona, and then the one he only showed his inner circle, and then another he reserved for lovers, and finally exposed the real man beneath the strata of pretense, he found he didn't quite know what to make of him.

It was a challenge -- at any given moment the strategy that Weyoun was accustomed to using might suddenly fail, and he would have to try a new tack, all the while working twice as hard as he'd ever needed to hide his ulterior motives, because Dukat, for all his many blind spots, had a keen eye for duplicity, and if he thought he was being manipulated, he would quickly become unmanageable.

As it stood, they’d had a string of good days, working seamlessly in tandem, their rapport better than ever. With so many outside forces to contend with, Dukat had warmed to Weyoun -- he was, after all, one of the few people who really seemed to be on his side.  What resulted was a relationship that was indecorously intimate by Cardassian standards, so much so that Dukat's subordinates, perhaps jokingly, referred to it as a marriage when they thought Weyoun couldn't hear them. Strange as it was, Weyoun always smiled when he heard them talking like that. It was an affirmation of his competence that he had so thoroughly won Dukat's trust. A small part of him thought uneasily that there might be something more than that to it, but it was best not to dwell on that kind of thought.

Especially today. It had taken more sleepless nights than Weyoun could count, but the upset following Cardassia’s entry into the Dominion had finally started to wane -- any overt opposition had been taken care of, and public opinion, though still not as positive as he would like, had turned in their favor. Today, Dukat would go before the people and be officially installed as the head of state. He was adamant that he not be given a title beyond what he'd earned in his military service, and Weyoun had agreed -- the optics were good, so good that, in spite of the practical reality of Dukat's role in the new government, no one had yet uttered the word, “Emperor”.

Dukat came into the room just as Weyoun was beginning to worry about the time, wearing a new uniform, his armor freshly polished.

“Are you ready?” he asked, a small frown and a brief glance toward the door betraying his nerves.

“Yes, but _you_ aren't,” Weyoun smiled, pulling back the protective cloth from the box he'd been holding. Inside was a gold aiguillette, formed from a thick, curved rod wrapped in a finer wire. It had been difficult to find -- after the dissolution of the regime previous to the Detapa Council, such decorations were done away with, but Weyoun had managed to track one down through a Ferengi antiquities purveyor for the occasion. The ornament was meant to resemble a type of vine that grew in the fertile regions on Cardassia Prime, and distinguished its wearer as leader, provider, and protector of the Cardassian people. Carefully, he fastened it around the shoulder of Dukat's armor, then brushed back a single errant strand of hair that had curled forward over the ridge of his neck.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Dukat began, “but--”

“Wear it,” Weyoun insisted. “At least until the people have had a chance to get used to a single leader. You need to be set apart, we need to show them there's a reason you are where you are. After that, if you still don't like it, we'll see what happens if we toss it into the Tenak'talar’s warp core.”

Dukat glanced at his shoulder, running his fingers along the spiralled wire. Finally, he sighed in resignation, and asked, “How do I look?”

Weyoun faltered for a moment. He never knew how to answer that sort of question, but the look of doubt in Dukat's face told him he needed to learn. Quickly.

“Unpretentious,” he assured him. “And strong. Like the man who's going to bring Cardassia back from the brink.”

As he spoke, he watched the mask shift back into place, all the swaggering confidence that, months ago, had seemed intrinsic to him, and Weyoun felt a little thrill at having coaxed it into place. He rose up on to the balls of his feet to press his lips to the corner of Dukat's mouth and soothed away the last of his apprehension with a slow kiss.

“We should go,” he said, the reluctance in his voice not entirely feigned.

As they walked along the wide boulevard that led to the Central Command complex, the harsh sun dimmed behind low, dark clouds, and a rare summer rain fell on the capital.

  
  



End file.
